Intruder
by Follow-ur-Shadow
Summary: A late night trespasser at Pearson Specter Litt puts Donna's life in danger and forces Harvey to question exactly 'how' he loves her.
1. Chapter 1

Intruder

 **Category** : Action/Angst/Romance

 **Pairing** : Darvey

 **Summary** : A late night trespasser at Pearson Specter Litt puts Donna's life in danger and forces Harvey to question exactly 'how' he loves her.

 **Disclaimer** : Own nadda.

 **Authors Notes** : My first Suits fic! Set after S7 but no discriminate time frame. I hope you like it :)

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 **✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧**

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His feet tread the tired beige carpet, eyes roaming over the brief in his hand. The hastily scrawled notes written inside the margin correlate precisely with the fax he's just received. Of course they do. He's Harvey Spectre, he doesn't make mistakes but he does like to be thoroughly prepared. The closure is tomorrow morning and he thumbs his eyelid wiping away the dregs of tiredness. It's late and the majority of people have headed home for the night but a movement in his peripheral vision urges his gaze up to the darkened hall.

It's no surprise to see his former assistant still working and the corners of his mouth twitch as his eyes trail from her heels up to a stunning blue dress. She carries immaculate with ease and a smirk spreads across his face when she stops and turns rolling her eyes at him. It's what they do. They smile and flirt, walk the walk, talk the talk and maybe sometimes the lines do get a little blurry but they're built to withstand it.

He winks at her drawing a playful smile to her full red lips and a tingle shoots through his chest as her long legs carry her from his view. The feeling lingers but he doesn't stop to dwell on it burying his nose back in the report as his feet kick forward. Emotions are a weakness, a prison, and he can accept she's different, that he cares about her but they've skipped through enough landmines recently. If keeping things platonic is what it takes to keep their limbs intact then-

" _Hey!_ "

The word flies from his mouth as he feet land squarely in the centre of his office, his eyes darting from the destroyed vinyl to the asshole ransacking the shit out of his desk.

Rather than make an acknowledge the the intruder's hands continue to turn thing over and the audacity transitions Harvey's reaction from shock to outright anger. "Listen jackass, I'm only going to say this once-" his voice is clipped as he tosses the brief in his hand, "whatever you're looking for it's clearly important, _ergo_ , not here where any Tom, Dick or Harry can just wander in and find it... so unless you want to stick around for the clean up-"

The glint of a blade stops the rant in its track and his eyes move up to the tightly knitted ski-mask covering the man's face.

It's one thing to goad a sociopath it's another to risk damaging a perfectly good suit in the process and he squares his shoulders at the situation. He has one hundred and forty six perfectly good options at his disposal. All he has to do is pick one.

"Okay, why don't we start with what you're looking for? Chances are I know where it is." The implication he's going to help is an outright lie. The only thing this son-of-a-bitch is going to get is his arse handed to him in a law-suit but he doesn't get the chance to fish for more information. Instead he's cut off by a prized basketball launching viciously through the air and he catches it inches from his face, taking a full half-a-second to reluctantly drop the memorabilia and move in pursuit of the offender.

He uses door as propulsion boosting his efforts to catch up but he nearly trips over himself when he spots Donna ahead of them. She's directly in line with the intruder and his heart slams in his throat as he shouts out a warning. She doesn't move, trapped like a god-damn deer trapped in head lights, and he kicks his legs to go faster as the man closes in grabbing her roughly and flourishing the knife dangerously close to her neck.

"Back off!"

He stops dead in his tracks, a sense of dread paralysing his ability to think rationally. He's close but not enough to advance or attack and he instinctively motions his hands in surrender risking a glance at Donna. She's hiding her fear but he can read it in her gaze along with the burning resolution he'll be able to do something. The unwavering trust makes him feel dizzy, overrun with panic, and a high pitched whine rings through his ear making the hall swim.

He can't lose her but he will if he doesn't get his shit together.

With a determined nod he swallows the dryness in his throat slowly lowering his arms. This isn't about winning, it's about Donna, and he quickly yields the impulsive side of his brain unwilling to take any chances. "Let her go and you can take what you want. She doesn't get hurt, that's the deal."

" _Deal_?" The man's face constricts in a sneer, "you're an arrogant piece of _shit_ Specter."

The personal attack is unexpected but the tightness in his chest wards him off retaliating with sarcasm. Usually he likes pissing people off but if this is all about something he did then that's something he can work with. "If you're looking to settle a score then come after me. She has nothing to do with this."

He catches the slight shake of Donna's head, the plea that he barter with something other than his own life, but right now they're both shit out of luck. He doesn't have anything else and the matter it isn't up for debate. "I mean it. You want to beat the shit out of me go right ahead."

The tone is serious and regret pools in Donna's chest as she watches him square off. She should have moved, _reacted_ , anything to avoid putting them in this position but when she'd heard shouting her instinct had been to check on him. After twelve years the urge to protect him is ingrained and it might not be a gun to her head but she's still prepared to take the bullet. "Listen, _asshole-_ " she bites the insult out through ground teeth, "whatever you _think_ happened, it isn't Harvey's fault-"

"Shut up!"

The knife digs deeper forcing her gaze up to the ceiling and she doesn't need to see Harvey's anger to feel it. There's a shift in the air, a tension that radiates through the grip around her sternum and when he speaks the venom splinters through his voice like breaking glass.

"Let her go," he seethes, the words vibrating with emotion, "or I swear to god touching her will be the last mistake you ever make." He's done screwing around and risks one step forward barking with conviction, " _now!_ ""

Relief slams through him as the attacker lets go but it quickly spirals into concern when she hits the ground hard at his feet. He drops instantly, ignoring the heavy fall of footsteps fleeing the scene. All he cares about is Donna and his hands skim her body in a flurry of movement checking for injuries. "Are you okay, did he hurt you?"

She shakes her head, the reassurance silenced by a loud roar of adrenaline in her ears. It's probably shock but it's also very real proof she's alive and her eyes squeeze shut as his arms guide her up into a sitting position. When she opens them again there's concern swimming in his gaze and she forces her lips into a tight smile. "I'm okay Harvey."

"You're bleeding." His eyes flash to the crimson streaking her neck and he reaches out moving her hair to inspect the cut. It's just a scratch but it shouldn't be there and the frustration flies out before he can stop it, "what the hell were you thinking, you couldn't keep your mouth shut for two damn minutes?"

She winces at the tone but doesn't give him the satisfaction of arguing back. The anger is a manifestation of his fear and when a loud sigh breaks from his mouth she accepts the silent apology splaying her arms around his neck.

He relaxes, squeezing her tightly and drawing in the comfort. He needed this more than angry words and the feeling takes hold in the pit of his stomach. He doesn't do emotions but he god-damn is tonight. He could have lost her and when she pulls back joking about scotch he takes the suggestion completely seriously, centering his weight to help them both up.

There's a slight tremble to her touch and he watches her steady the wobble keeping his hand out in support. She doesn't take it and his fingers drop to her elbow instead, his expression softening as her eyes drift up to meet him his gaze. " _Hey-_ " he offers, a small smile resting on his lips, "You know I wouldn't let anything happen to you. There's no statue of limitation on that promise, okay?"

She appreciates the gesture even as he breaks the contact, something about calling security and finding scotch, and she nods telling him to go. Part of her is actually relived, _grateful_ , as she retreats back into her office. She needs the time to compose herself, to forget about the look of concern burning in his gaze and the lengths he was willing to go to in an effort to protect her.

She knows he loves her and the realisation causes her body to sag unwittingly against the desk.

He loves her, but she doesn't know what that means or if she's ever going to get the opportunity to find out.

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 **✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧**

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	2. Chapter 2

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 **✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ** ✧

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He hates leaving her alone and moves with purpose flinching at the state of his office. He was right, she didn't need to see this. It's a reminder of a night they'd both rather forget and he grabs the phone off the cradle, eyeing the untouched bottle of Scotch as a clean cut voice picks up the line. He has half a mind to fire the head of security on the spot and launches in with a colourful display of language that would make his own mother blush. Damn right they'll do a sweep of the building. They'll also pull the security footage, have it fully analysed by morning _and_ handle the police investigation. He'll go into the station to answer questions tomorrow. Tonight his first and foremost priority is making sure Donna's okay and he slams down the receiver grabbing the bottle of scotch on his way out.

He detours through the kitchen, stopping to rummage through the cupboards looking for the first aid kit.

He's seen Louis with it enough times and eventually finds the box shoved towards the back near the cleaning products. He drags it out opening it up to make sure it isn't empty and silently thanks Donna for her meticulous house-keeping skills. The irony that she's the one who needs it tastes metallic in his mouth but he swallows the bitterness. He doesn't want to think about it and flips down the clasp with a drawn out sigh. There'll be time to lament on 'what ifs' later. No doubt when he's staring at the ceiling in a few hours time, the darkness amplifying everything that could have happened.

The thought taunts him and he pushes up grabbing the scotch off the counter and retracing his steps back to her office.

When he arrives her eyes are fixed on the door, her face a few shades paler than when he left but she visibly relaxes as he crosses the threshold leading with the bottle in his hand. He spies the two glasses she has waiting -because she's Donna and being proactive is ingrained in her nature- and he obliges pouring them both a drink.

They don't cheers, not tonight, and he welcomes the burn of alcohol as it stings his throat. _Christ_ it feels good but it's not there to be abused, just to take the edge off and he deposits the tumbler scuffing his hands over the first aid box.

"I don't need-"

"Don't argue," he orders, unclipping the latch and flipping the lid. The fuss is probably unnecessary but his actions are being driven by concern and he takes out a packet of antibacterial wipes tearing it between his fingers as he moves towards her. She doesn't release her glass and he manoeuvres around it discarding the wrapper as he glides his free hand up through her hair. "Hold still..." he exhales slowly, lingering a moment before finally revealing the angry mark along her neck. The dried blood turns his stomach but he doesn't shy away from it, drawing his brows together in an attempt to focus on the cut and not the faint aroma of lilac invading his senses.

She flinches as he dabs the raw skin, taking a sip of scotch to mask her unease at their close proximity. His only acknowledgement is a reminder to keep steady and she sighs bringing the drink back to her lips in spite of the request. She isn't used to seeing this side of him, the vulnerability that only ever offers itself fleetingly, and struggles not to lean into the tenderness. It's the same trap she keeps falling into, assuming his kindness means something more, and she winces wishing the reaction _was_ due to the pain.

An apology lodges in his throat but her arm gets in the way again and the words don't shift any further. Instead he works around the immobile limb brushing his thumb against her jaw to steady his hand. The touch triggers a rush of goosebumps across her skin and he knows he should stop, that he shouldn't be standing so close and caring so goddamn much, but the hint of scotch on her breath is intoxicating. It's only when her shoulders tense that he realises it's too much and his control snaps back into place driving him away from her.

With a rigid throw he tosses the wipe in the bin and against his better judgement finds her gaze instead of a quip to ease the tension. Her face has more colour thanks to a heated flush painting her cheeks and he parts his lips looking for a diversion but his mouth stumbles over what he can't and won't say. " _I_... you should call someone-" he finishes lamely, swallowing the regret without an apology. They're both too exposed and all he can do is try to keep them from acting rashly in a volatile situation.

It takes a moment for the words to register, that he intends to leave, and her chest clenches tightly in response. It shouldn't hurt as much as it does. This side of him she is used to but the fact he would choose now to walk away is another blow to her resolve. She could have died tonight. The least he could do is put aside his own insecurities to offer some comfort. "I have someone Harvey, _you_." She waits for him to deny it, come up some bullshit reason why he can't be that person, but the silence stonewalls her and she breaks it with a bitter exhale, "you know what? Fine. Go, _leave_... see if I care."

This time she doesn't wait for anything in return and reaches for the bottle of scotch with a wayward stretch, abandoning any intention of using a glass. She'll deal with tonight in her own way without his pity and most definitely without his judgement. "Don't let the door hit your arse on the way out."

He watches her neck the equivalent of two shots and winces at the disgusted contour of her face. She's hitting him where she knows it hurts, drawing out his guilt, because they both know he's not about to let her wind up with alcohol poisoning and if she doesn't realise that, she's damn well about to find out.

" _Hey_ , that's expensive scotch-" he jerks the bottle, swinging it out of reach and if looks could kill he'd be a dead man. Obviously it isn't about the money but her glare makes him second guess whether she knows _that_ , and he opens his mouth to explain but is cut off by a sudden flurry of movement.

"Go to hell." She shoulders her handbag, heels clicking as she storms across the office floor. She's done with his bullshit, about half a step from the door when his fingers encircle her wrist spinning her back around. She turns sharply, raising her hand to slap him but he preempts the move pulling her flush against his chest and a wave of embarrassment erupts across her face, "let _go_ of me! You smug, _arrogant_ , son of a-"

His mouth closes fiercely over her lips silencing the protest and god help him if his ego doesn't explode the second she kisses him back. It's not about winning. The last time he let her go without a fight she walked right out of his life and he isn't about to let that happen again. He isn't going to lose her just because he doesn't know how to keep her and if it's a mistake his oxygen starved lungs say otherwise. She tastes like scotch with a hint of orange and the sensation stirs a dormant memory that he never wants to be without again. The only reason he stops kissing her is when the need for air finally drives them apart, landing them in a mix of heavy breathing and shell-shocked silence.

His first instinct is to brush it off, blame adrenaline or alcohol but it's a cheap shot and a flimsy excuse. Not only that but he doesn't do apologies. That would mean admitting he did something wrong and he might be impulsive, reckless and arguably stupid but this time he ins't sorry.

Just scared shitless.

She isn't saying anything, her eyes wide with disbelief, and his voice cracks as it strains over the silence, "when you asked me 'how' I love you, you were right... I am capable of looking at you like that cause I do but I hide it every goddamn _day._ " He shakes his head, as if it will clear the weight of the admission but nothing can. The truth is he's out on a ledge and the only way off is to jump and pray there'll be something to break his fall. "I haven't been scared to risk anything-" he defends, bracing himself for the impact, "I've been afraid to lose everything but if I can't tell you that, then what _are_ we doing?"

Her mouth parts slightly, the words taking her back to hard truths and implications that are rarely ever perceptible. This is different. This is his heart out on the line but the Harvey Specter she knows doesn't gamble with emotions, not unless he's certain of the outcome. "I warned _you-_ " her head tilts indirectly, the trace of humor at odds with her recoiling shock. Just because he's one up doesn't mean she has to surrender her hand and she's quick to remind him of that, "I said you'd fall for me."

There's a slight waver to her voice and it's the only indication other than the distant reference that she's toying with him. It causes a sharp exhale but doesn't stop him from calling her bluff, "and I'm saying it wasn't just me that fell." It's a bold assumption but he stands by it raising an eyebrow, "am I wrong?"

She wants nothing more than to wipe the smug look off his face but even at his most self-assured she's always been able to read the fine lines of doubt creasing his eyes. Right now he's a barking dog but she knows him better than that. "No, you're not..." she eventually admits, not just to put him out of his misery but to steal some of the victory for herself because now he has the information it's up to him to act on it. "Should I get the can opener?"

It's presented almost as a dare, like she's expecting him to balk at the suggestion, and the corners of his mouth twist in a frown. He _wants_ this but it's not surprising she has doubts. He hasn't exactly been forthcoming with his emotions in the past and he edges towards her relying on the intent behind his words rather than their romance. "I was thinking something new."

She surprised when his fingers slip into her hand, the contact familiar but far removed from what she was expecting. It's a sign he's serious and her stomach flutters as the ghost of a smile quirks his lips. They should talk about it, establish some ground rules or in the very least attempt something other than the flippancy that falls from her mouth, "a pineapple _and?"_

 _"G_ loves." He quickly decides, conveying an air of gratitude at the light hearted banter. He wants to give her more, he _will_ , but tonight he just needs them to be themselves; unguarded, unconditional and infatuated with each other.

"Just one?" She queries it, his dark gaze spreading a warmth across her cheeks. Twelve years ago she wouldn't have battered an eyelid at the suggestion but back then she didn't love him, and the smile that cracks his expression makes her go weak at the knees.

" _Exactly."_ It doesn't need any further explanation and suddenly he's a million miles away from the intruder in his office and the reality of facing it all tomorrow. He's only concern is where the hell they're going to get a pineapple, and how they're going to manage without a can opener.

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 **✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ** ✧

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 **AN: Originally this was only going to be two chapters but I've decided to write a little more. Why not, right? :P I'm sorry for any typos, it's really l** ate!


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